


Back of a Dream Car Twenty Foot Long

by theswearingkind



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: AU, Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theswearingkind/pseuds/theswearingkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam gets what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back of a Dream Car Twenty Foot Long

**Author's Note:**

> I chose not to use archive warnings for this fic. Please see the end of the work for more specific trigger warnings.
> 
> Written for queenbitchfest back in 2009, an Adam Lambert fic fest where everyone wrote fic based on David Bowie songs. My song was "Golden Years," from _Station to Station_.

Just one word. One word, that's all it is, one little word, and all he has to do is say it –

_Yes._

 

_i._

 

" – Adam Lambert!" Ryan shouts, and just like that, tonight, and every night from now on, Adam owns the world.

He is young and he is beautiful and there is no one in this room that doesn't want him. _No one._ He is a fucking supernova, but better, because he's not going to burn out.

_This_ – this is his life.

*

It's been a week since the finale, since everything changed in all the ways Adam didn't let himself hope that it could.

He's still not used to it, not yet, but he's getting there.

They're all at some signing in New York City, Adam and Kris and Alli and everyone else. There have to be five thousand people there, minimum. They've all been there for hours, signing t-shirts and posters and scraps of paper, and Adam's tired, yeah, but it's the best kind of tired, like the ache after a night of dancing and good sex, the kind you earn doing something you love. It's finally over, though, time to head back to the hotel and crash. He's moving through the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of Kris up ahead of him when, through the screams and shouts and cries of _Adam! Adam, over here!_ , he hears – _something_ , darker, more desperate –

"No, you don't – you don't _understand_ , I – I have to talk to Adam, I _have_ to talk to him – "

Adam's not really even sure why it catches his attention, just that it does, and it takes him a second, but he finds where it's coming from. It's this girl with long dark hair over on his right; she's trying to push her way forward through the edge of the crowd but another girl is pulling her back, hissing, "Just let it _go_ , okay, you're being nuts – "

That's when the first girl realizes that Adam has seen her. "Adam," she says, eyes huge, and surges toward him – or tries to, but the other girl holds onto her. "Let _go_ of me," she gasps, jerking her arm away violently and stumbling a little.

"Hey, hi, it's okay," Adam says, grabbing hold of her shoulders to steady her. "You alright, honey?"

For some reason, the girl looks suddenly, strangely confused, like it's a question no one's ever asked before. "I – I'm not – " she says haltingly. Then, "No," abruptly, giving her head a quick shake, like she's clearing her thoughts. "No, I – this isn't right."

"Uh, okay – " Adam starts, confused.

"No," she insists, cutting him off before he can say anything else. "This - this is _wrong_. It wasn't supposed to be this way."

_Oh, Jesus,_ he thinks. _One of those._ "Okay, well, thanks for coming," he says aloud, plastering a smile to his face and releasing her shoulders before turning to go. But she manages to grab hold of his sleeve, and Adam can't – he's surrounded by fans and people with cameras. He doesn't want to cause a scene.

"This isn't right," the girl says again. "You know it. This isn't what happens, Adam, you _know_ it."

"Look, honey," he not-quite-snaps, "I don't know what you're talking about, but – "

" _Yes_ , yes you _do_ ," she says, voice getting a little louder, and oh fuck, how is he supposed to handle an honest-to-God crazy person in the middle of all these people? "This is – this is _wrong_. I don't know what you did, but it wasn't supposed to happen this way, and you know it. Kris was supposed to win – " and for a second he's relieved, because she's just a hardcore fan, not dangerous or anything, but then she keeps going, getting louder and louder, "Kris isn't – he isn't _yours_ , Adam, he's not _supposed_ to be yours, and I don't know what you did or – or how you did it but he isn't _yours_ – "

"I – I don't – " he stammers, and he can feel the blood draining from his face because – because what is she – _how_ does she –

And then, _thank fucking Christ_ , a security guy finally gets with the program and does his damn job, stepping between the girl and him and interrupting to ask, "Mr. Lambert, is there a problem here?"

_Jesus, yes_ , he start to say, but the girl drops Adam's arm as soon as she sees – _Kris_ , shit, who's coming up behind the security guy and looking more than a little concerned.

"Kris," the girl says urgently, "Kris, it should have been you, it was _supposed_ to be you – "

Kris smiles, but it's not the one that he means, not the one that reaches all the way to his eyes. "I'm pretty happy with how things turned out," he says, sliding his gaze over to Adam. "Thanks for the support, though." There's a little bite behind the words that she probably can't hear, doesn't even know how to listen for.

"No, you don't understand," she insists. " _You_ won – you did, I don't know how he changed it but you did, you won, it was you – "

"Hey, I don't know what you're talking about," Kris says, and he's not smiling at all anymore, "but you're out of line if you think Adam did anything to – "

"Kris, let it go," Adams says, heart slamming behind his ribcage. "It doesn't matter, okay."

"You don't get it," the girl says, practically hysterical. "This isn't _right_ , this isn't how it was supposed to – " She breaks off and stares wild-eyed straight at Adam. "What did you _do_?" she demands. "How did you – " but before she can finish, security is getting her and pulling her away.

The girl goes without putting up too much of a fight, but just as she's almost out of sight, she looks over her shoulder, and her eyes burn into him like a brand, wide and angry and sure.

Kris looks furious, angrier than Adam's ever seen him. He's actually shaking all over, like little earthquakes are going off under his skin. "Can you _believe_ her?" he says. "Acting like you – like you _cheated_ or something, like – "

"It doesn't matter," he says, heart in his throat. "It's not a big deal, Kris."

"But – "

Adam cuts him off. "Let's – just let it go, okay?" Kris doesn't look close to backing down, so Adam makes himself smile and add, "You've just gotta get used to this kind of devotion, baby." He reaches out and places his hand on the small of Kris's back, pulling him toward Adam until there's less than an inch of space between the two of them, until Adam can feel him, can touch him. "They're all gonna love you now," he murmurs, low.

It works just like Adam knew it would. Kris looks down, a blush spreading across the tops of his cheeks. "Adam," he mumbles, taking hold of the lapels of Adam's jacket and huffing out a tiny half-laugh. He slides his hands up the planes of Adam's chest, and Adam's breath catches in his throat. "Man," he adds, shaking his head a little and tilting his face up until he's looking straight at Adam, "she was – she was crazy."

"Crazy," Adam repeats, half-breathless from the crowd and the lights and _Kris_ , God, from Kris, so close that Adam could kiss him if he wants – and he does, he _does_ want, so that's exactly what he does.

And Adam's eyes are closed, but he feels the world explode in the light of a thousand camera flashes going double-time, and Kris wraps his arms around Adam even tighter, no reason to hide, not here, not _now_ , and in his head Adam's repeating _crazy, she's crazy, that's all_.

 

 

_ii._

 

 

Adam turns thirty on a rainy Sunday in some anonymous German city whose name he's forgotten.

Less than half-way through this tour and he's starting to get tired – a real tired, the kind that a night in a hotel bed, no matter how high the thread-count of the sheets or the feather content of the pillows, just can't help.

Adam loves it, he does – the crowds and the lights and the music, the screams that echo in his ears hours after he's left the stage – but sometimes he misses touching ground and staying there, being in one place for long enough to get sick of it.

The show tonight was a good one, though. His band had stopped the show after his first song and the crowd had sung to him, fifteen thousand people wishing him happy birthday in German, and as confetti had showered down around him, he'd had a moment where he'd thought, _This isn't – this almost wasn't mine_ , but it was just a moment.

His cell rings while he's on the way up to his room, the tinny strains of _No Boundaries_ filling the elevator. Adam smiles and flips the phone open.

"You didn't change it yet, did you?" Kris asks, not waiting for a hello.

"Fuck no," Adam says, smile stretching wider. "I'm never changing it. It's my favorite song ever."

"I hate you," Kris sighs.

"No, you don't."

"I was contractually obligated to sing that, man."

"So was I!"

Kris makes a dismissive noise in his ear. "I don't have you singing it as my ring-tone, though."

"Well, you're a nicer guy than I am, baby. Everybody knows that."

"I think you're nice," Kris protests.

"Aww," Adam says. "It's like you love me or something."

"Yeah, or something," Kris sasses, and Adam can hear his grin through the phone.

"Hey!" Adam laughs. "That's no way to talk to the birthday boy, Kristopher."

"You're right," Kris says, fake-solemn. "I was raised to respect my elders."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't," Kris returns easily. "Hey, for real, though – happy birthday, Adam," and it's ridiculous how fast Adam goes from missing Kris a normal amount, wanting him around but knowing he's where he needs to be, that they're _both_ where they need to be, to _aching_ for him, wishing fiercely that he was back in L.A. – or that Kris was here, not recording in some studio in time for a March release date.

The elevator doors ping open, and he fumbles through his pocket for his room key. "Thanks, baby," he says, fighting against the sudden urge to cry.

"Hey – hey, Adam, are you okay?" Kris asks, voice gone soft in his ear.

Adam stops outside the door to his room, taking a deep breath and letting his forehead rest against the dark wood of the door. "I'm just – " He stops and takes another deep, shaky breath before starting again. "I'm fine, Kris, I am, I just – I'm tired, and I'm _old_ , and I miss you so fucking much that I – "

He makes himself cut off before he does something really embarrassing, like begging Kris to get on the next flight to Germany or admitting that he wrapped himself around three pillows last night because the bed felt too big without Kris in it.

"Adam," Kris says quietly.

Adam allows himself one more moment of moping before he straightens. He's not going to spend the rest of the night crying about not getting to be with Kris on his birthday. He's _not_. "I know, I know – I'll be fine, Kris, I'm sorry I'm being so crazy. You just caught me at a bad moment, that's all."

"You sure?"

Adam nods, then realizes how stupid that is. It's not like Kris can see. "Yeah, baby, I'm sure. I just – I just need to go to bed and sleep for, like, a million hours."

"Hmm," Kris says, carefully non-committal. "Where are you now?"

Adam gives a hitching little laugh. "I'm – fuck, I'm just standing outside the door to my hotel room talking to you. Good thing I've practically got my own floor, huh? Can you imagine the tabloids – Adam Lambert on verge of breakdown, see page three for – "

He stops speaking abruptly, the words dying in his throat, because the door to his room opens, and there's – fuck, there's _Kris_ , holding a phone in one hand and already reaching for Adam with the other.

*

Later, much later, they're curled tightly together in the middle of the bed. Adam can't quite force himself to take his hands off of Kris. He keeps touching – Kris's arms, his chest, his back, his ass, everything, every part he can reach.

"So. Happy birthday, old man," Kris says, smiling.

"Ugh. Don't remind me," Adam winces, half-joking, half-not.

Kris ignores him. "Adam Lambert. Thirty."

"Twenty-nine and holding," Adam tries.

"Can you even make dance music anymore? What if you break a hip?"

Adam shifts, pinning Kris to the mattress, and watches in satisfaction as his eyes go slightly cloudy. "I didn't notice any complaints," he points out.

"I guess you'll do," Kris says, a little breathless.

"That's what I thought," Adam says, smug, before shifting back to Kris's side.

Kris just looks at him for a few seconds, big brown eyes warm and lazy, before giving a short, sudden laugh.

"What?" Adam asks, interested and a little wary.

"Just – three years. Who would've thought it?" And, yeah. Adam gets it. It's insane how their worlds have changed in the past three years. Three years since _Idol_. Since Kris.

"Yeah," Adam breathes.

"It kind of seems like yesterday," Kris says. He cracks a grin. "Remember the bidet?"

Adam laughs. "Remember Alli's cake fight?"

"Remember – oh, man. Adam. Duets. I thought for sure I was gone."

"Hey," Adam protests. " _You_ were good."

"Yeah, well. Didn't seem like it was gonna make much difference," Kris says, arching his back. "And – hey," he says suddenly, shifting so that he's propped up on one arm. "Remember that crazy girl?"

In the past three years, Adam has encountered a lot of crazy fans, but he immediately knows who Kris means. None of the others ever got under his skin quite like she did.

"Man, she was _nuts_ ," Kris continues, oblivious. "I thought she was gonna – I don't know, hurt you or something. I don't think I've ever been that mad at a fan before."

Adam really doesn't want to talk about that girl, so it takes even him by surprise when he says, "She was right, though."

"She – wait, _what_?"

"She was right," Adam repeats. "It was supposed to be you."

Kris stares at him for a second, then laughs. "Yeah, right," he says. "Like that was ever gonna happen. The Glamberts would never have stood for it."

"No, really."

" _Adam_ – " Kris sighs.

"I stole this from you," Adam says, suddenly sure and not quite knowing why, but knowing that he has to say this, that it's important that Kris know. "It was – it was yours, it _should_ have been yours."

Kris is silent for a few seconds. "Hey," he says finally, soft. "It's like I told her then." He reaches out and runs a hand through Adam's hair, plays with the ends of a few strands. "I'm pretty happy with the way things turned out."

Adam can't speak for a few moments, can't risk it. He finally pulls himself together enough to say, hoarse, "She – she was nuts."

"Damn right," Kris grins, leaning in for a kiss.

Adam tries to believe it.

 

 

_iii._

 

 

Ten years, almost, and Adam's getting too old for this shit.

It's been a long day, okay, it has been a fucking _eternity_ since he got out of bed that morning, and all he really wants to do is go home and crawl into bed and curl up under the covers next to Kris for the foreseeable future. Instead, he gets to spend the remainder of his evening at some fucking industry party doing yet more press for this shitty-ass movie whose soundtrack he's on. He's surrounded by douchey, self-important assholes, his boots are at least a half-size too small, and they're not even serving good booze.

He gets home when it's closer to daylight than dark and finds Kris asleep on the couch, the volume on the television turned down low, light flickering across his face. Adam doesn't want to wake Kris up, really, but even though Kris can sleep literally anywhere, he's always a little cranky if Adam leaves him on the couch all night, claims it results in all kinds of mysterious phantom pains that he demands Adam massage away.

"Kris. Hey, Kris," Adam says, giving him a little shake and watching as Kris's eyes flutter open. "Wake up, baby."

A slow, lazy smile spreads across Kris's face. "When'd you get home?" he asks sleepily.

"Just now. Come on, let's go to bed."

Kris makes a sleepy noise. "Or we could just stay – just stay here," he yawns.

Adam rolls his eyes. "Not a chance. You'll whine all day tomorrow."

Kris looks up at him through his eyelashes, pouting his lower lip out a bit.

" _Fine_ ," Adam says, sighing heavily. "Move over." He drops into the space Kris makes for him, groaning a little at finally being off his feet. "How was your day, baby?" he asks as Kris curls into his side.

"Okay. Probably not as interesting as yours."

"That wasn't _interesting_ , Kristopher. It was exhausting."

Adam feels rather than sees Kris grin. "Getting too old to be out all night, Lambert."

"Watch it."

Kris yawns again. "What're you gonna – gonna do about it?"

Any other night, Adam would show Kris _exactly_ what he'd do about it, but he really might fall asleep mid-sentence here. "You're in luck," he says. "I'm feeling generous tonight. Free pass."

"Nice of you."

Adam kind of thinks every day should end this way.

"Hey, so," he says after a couple minutes of comfortable, sleepy silence. "How _was_ your day?"

"Okay," Kris mumbles into his shoulder. "Watched some T.V. Worked on a song. And – oh," he adds, "apparently my dad caught a fish that weighed twenty-six pounds, so the Allens have that going for us now."

Adam smiles. "Impressive."

"Yeah, Katy said she'd send pictures."

It's been a long day. Adam's pretty off his game.

"Katy?" he asks, stiffening. "You – talked to Katy?"

"Uh, yeah," Kris says, giving him a weird look. "I talk to her all the time, Adam."

"I know. You just – didn't mention that you'd talked to her _today_ , that's all," he says weakly, feeling ridiculous.

"Uh-huh," Kris says. "I thought you were over being weird about her."

"I am," Adam protests.

"Seriously, Adam," Kris says. "I know you were kind of – " He sighs. "I know you didn't like her when you met, but – "

"That's not true, Kris – " and he's not even lying, actually, because it wasn't that he didn't like Katy, it was just that he didn't know how to deal with her like this.

" – but I thought you'd worked it out. I – she's my sister, Adam," Kris says, reaching out and tangling his fingers through Adam's. Adam's breath catches. "She's not going anywhere. And neither are you. I want you two to get along."

Kris looks so earnest – and so _young_ , God, like he's years younger than he really is – like he's twenty-four again, like Adam was still standing next to him on-stage, watching him laugh and thinking, _anything, I'd do anything, fuck_ –

"I'll try harder," he says.

"Adam – "

"I mean it," he repeats, desperate and suddenly wide awake. "I'll try harder. I will."

Kris smiles, and whatever it's cost him, whatever he has to do – it's worth it.

*

"Adam, please," Kris moans, loud and wanton, still the most beautiful sound Adam's ever heard in his thirty-seven years of life, "Adam, _Adam_ , hard – harder – "

"Kris," Adam gasps, "Kris, baby, that's it, c'mon – "

Kris moans again, long and wordless, and throws his head back. Adam leans down and scores the bared skin of Kris's throat with his teeth, licking at the pulse racing under the skin and tasting the salt-slick tang of sweat on his tongue. "Kris, baby, c'mon – come for me, baby, come for me," he mumbles against Kris's neck, biting down hard on the skin covering Kris's collarbone.

Kris makes a sharp, broken noise and does as he's told.

*

"Doesn't it ever bother you?" Kris asks, later, voice muffled and face half-buried in their mounds of pillows as Adam traces a pattern across his back. Adam thought it was random at first, but now he realizes that he's writing music, tracing it into the muscles of Kris's back.

"Does what ever bother me?"

Kris smiles – ten years gone and it still takes Adam's breath away sometimes, just how beautiful he is. "You know."

"Enlighten me," Adam says, eyes falling shut against his will, sleep starting to drag him under.

Kris doesn't answer for a moment. Then he reaches out, and Adam feels a finger running down the bridge of his nose, a thumb tracing the curve of his bottom lip, and the air around him moves as Kris leans in close, ghosting his lips over Adam's mouth.

"That it's not real," Kris says finally, voice not quite a whisper but too soft to be anything else.

Adam's muscles tense, and he opens his eyes to see Kris's face entirely serious, pale and familiar in the thin light of night-time. "What?" he asks, and his voice comes out high and full of breath.

"I'm not really yours," Kris says, flat and toneless and terrifying. "I never was. I never should have been."

"I – Kris," Adam says, stumbling over the word like he's never said it before, like he hasn't said it every day for almost a decade.

"You know, Adam. You know I'm not."

Adam jerks awake in the space between one breath and the next, heart dashing like a mad thing in his chest. Kris is still asleep beside him, his bare skin a swath of tan across the white sheets, and Adam can't – he has to get out of there.

He stumbles into the bathroom, shutting the door and flipping on the light – fluorescent, even though when they'd moved in he'd lobbied hard for old-fashioned incandescent. He knows they're bad for the environment or whatever, but he still loves the way they make everything look softer, better; these lights strip him bare, won't let anything hide.

He stares at himself in the mirror, at the faint lines around the corners of his eyes, the stubble shadowing his jaw, the bruise Kris left in the hollow of his throat, and wonders what he could be looking at right now.

It's a moot point. He tears his eyes away from his own reflection and flicks the light back off, going back to the bedroom. He tries to slide back between the sheets as quietly as he can, but stealth has never been his strong suit, and Kris stirs beside him, blinking slowly awake.

"Adam?" Kris mumbles, turning sleepily toward him, eyes half-lidded. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Is it – the dreams again?"

"No," he says unsteadily, trying to smile. "It's nothing, go back to sleep."

Through his haze of sleepiness, Kris looks briefly, incredibly frustrated. "I'm _here_ , Adam – "

"It was just a dream, baby. Let's just go back to sleep, okay?"

Kris clearly doesn't believe him, but he mercifully lets it go, burrowing back down into the sheets. After a moment, he reaches back, grabs Adam's arm and pulls it tight around him, lacing their fingers tightly together and tugging until Adam is pressed flush against him. He's asleep again in seconds.

Adam can feel Kris's skin next to him, as warm as though he's been lying in the sun all day, his heart beating steady and rhythmic next to Adam's chest. He concentrates on feeling its cadence, finding the beat, breathing in and out slow and deliberate for long minutes until he's calmed down enough that his own matches it.

_This is real_ , he forces himself to think. _This is what's real_.

Kris makes an unconscious noise in his sleep, soft and somehow wounded, and gives a small, sudden jerk, like he's trying to pull away.

Adam holds on.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains what could be construed as dub-con, or even, I suppose, non-con. Please read with care.


End file.
